


Mysteries of Love

by 10milestereo



Category: The 100 (TV), clexa - Fandom
Genre: Apocalypse, F/F, Fluff and Smut, Happy Ending, One Night Stands, Reincarnation, Romance, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-07-25 08:21:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7525345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/10milestereo/pseuds/10milestereo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The year is 2350. Lexa and Clarke meet (again) on New Year's Eve...on the eve of the apocalypse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Between The Click Of The Light And The Start Of The Dream

**Author's Note:**

> I thought I was done writing Lexa/Clarke stories, but I have one more in me. Go listen to Mysteries of Love by Julee Cruise, by the way. She has a weird style, but the lyrics to the song are just epic yet simple and what I'm trying to go for here. The story takes place 200 years after Lexa's death, and I wanted to play with the idea of reincarnation. Basically, I want to give myself and others a happy, hopeful ending to a romance that never really ends. 
> 
> Also, I apparently really like writing about the apocalypse, zombie or otherwise. 
> 
> I'm thinking I can tell this story in 4 short-ish chapters. 
> 
> PS. I watched a lot of Battlestar Galactica a couple months ago. 
> 
> PPS. I also love the Twilight Zone. 
> 
> PPPS. Okay, I'm done. Enjoy, and let me know what you think!

 

 

 _“_ _There is a fifth dimension beyond that which is known to man.  It is a dimension as vast as space and as timeless as infinity.  It is the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition, and it lies between the pit of man’s fears and the summit of his knowledge.  This is the dimension of imagination.  It is an area which we call the Twilight Zone.”_

 

 

 

**December 31, 2350 10:42 PM**

 

Hope.  Dread.  Infinity. 

Sweat.  Perfume.  Cigarette smoke.   

Deep gold liquid occupied a shot glass to the brim.  Lexa picked it up and tipped it back as the contents filled her mouth and burned her throat in a hard, swift swallow.  It was her signature magic trick for the night, and she made the whiskey disappear again and again.  She pulled her wallet out, fingered the green bills inside, and counted how much money she had on her.  She was about to order another drink when a gentle hand touched her forearm and interrupted her repeat performance.  She slowly turned her head and found an attractive woman sitting next to her, a beautiful stranger who appeared out of nowhere. 

“Are you celebrating the New Year, or are you trying to forget the impending apocalypse?” The woman asked with a curious smile.    

Lexa tilted her head, jutting her chin and displaying her chiseled jawline, as she considered the question. There was nothing to celebrate.  There was nothing to forget.  Hours and minutes and seconds simply continued to count down and disappear into oblivion.  “I’m surviving.”

The woman connected with serious green eyes and nodded her head in understanding.  She picked up her pint glass half-full of beer, took a sip, and looked up at the two televisions attached to the wall above the bar.  They presented starkly different scenes.  Downtown was jam-packed and alive with energy as its visitors and residents waited for the great flame of Polis Tower to shine bright and fiery at the stroke of midnight.  Seventy-eight minutes to go. 

The other channel, a national news network, had become doom and gloom twenty-four-seven.  Global catastrophe was certain.  Billions of people were expected to perish.  Violent crimes and mass suicides were on the rise.  A news ticker at the bottom of the screen constantly reminded viewers of these harsh realities.  Approximately thirty-four hours to go. 

“All this has happened before, and all of it will happen again,” the woman thought out loud.  The term was history recurrence; this was not the first time that the end was near for humanity.  She vaguely recalled learning about the nuclear apocalypse of 2052 in high school, and she suddenly wished she had paid more attention in her New American history class.  One more regret to add to the ever-growing list.  This is what kept her up at night now, the racing thoughts of ‘never’ and ‘too late.’  She absently smoothed her fingers over the condensation that had formed on the glass as she literally watched her life tick away on the television.    

“Don’t,” Lexa warned and earnestly continued, “Trust me.  The less thinking you do, the better.”  She had hoped to be perceived as helpful with her advice, but she received a subtle eye-roll and a skeptical sigh in response.  “What?” 

“So, how do you just turn off your brain?”

A challenge, Lexa enjoyed a challenge.  She propped her elbow on the counter while her hand supported her head.  She heard the question, she had the answer, but she was suddenly distracted by soft features and slightly flushed cheeks.  “Why did you come over here again?”

“I think you’re avoiding the question.”

“I think _you’re_ avoiding the question.”

The woman chuckled and shook her head.  She was too honest and straightforward to go back and forth to conceal her intentions.  “I saw you, and I wanted to talk to you.”  Risk and rejection were practically meaningless at the precipice of doom.  “You know, I’ve never approached someone at a bar before?  I’ve never had a one-night stand.  I’ve never been in love.  I’ve never been reckless in my life.”

“Is that what this is, you being reckless?” Lexa smirked.  Her gaze traveled from dark blue eyes to upturned lips and then continued south.  A Planned Parenthood identification badge was clipped to the pocket of her denim blouse, but long, blonde hair obscured the name printed on it.  She extended her hand forward and examined the laminated card with a slight pull and angling of her fingers.  It read ‘Griffin – PA.’  “Griffin?”

“Clarke, my name is Clarke.”

“Clarke.”  It was a unique name for a woman, but the way the word felt leaving her mouth with a click of her tongue was oddly familiar.  “I’m Lexa.” 

An awkward silence settled between them. 

Clarke finished her beer and swiveled in her chair to scan the room.  There was a man, armed with an acoustic guitar, playing forlorn love songs on the small stage; the loud chatter of patrons not paying attention diminished his bleakly comforting voice except when he hit those high notes.  She heard too much jovial laughter, she saw too many carefree smiles, and she wished she could be that blissfully apathetic about the end of the world.  She immediately scolded herself for thinking too much again. 

Clarke turned back around and looked over at Lexa while she scrutinized the liquor collection behind the bar.  Blue eyes traveled up and down and paused over curves and angles in a slow, exploratory path.  Long, brunette hair fell over her shoulder.  A faded black t-shirt that once had sleeves covered her torso, a black tribal tattoo wrapped around her bicep, and a pair of black jeans hugged her ass.  Lexa just looked like trouble, irresistible trouble, exactly the kind of person her mother warned her about when she was a teenager.  It was almost funny, that conversation about sex and relationships she had as an adolescent, as if Clarke ever had an impressionable bone in her body.

Lexa continued to debate getting that fifth shot of whiskey but decided she wanted to sober up, especially when she caught Clarke staring at her like _that_.  Open.  Urgent.  Interested.  She realized Clarke was prepared to say ‘yes’ to anything, not out of desperation but out of pure want, and she wondered why this friendly, beautiful, intelligent woman had ultimately chosen her on the next to last night of the rest of their lives.  Clarke probably had men and women lined up to date her, to fuck her, to love and worship her.  Lexa concluded she must have been a loner too, just like she was. 

“I’ll be right back.  I need to tell my co-workers I’m going home with you,” Clarke said as she slid off her chair.  She glanced up at Lexa for a reaction and hoped to find a sign of weakness in that stoic and blasé exterior but received a curt nod instead.  As Clarke walked away to locate her co-workers, Lexa swallowed hard and wiped her clammy palms on the thighs of her jeans.

 


	2. Like A Leaf Clings To A Tree

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, with the introduction out of the way, let's get on with the story...
> 
> Clarke rides a vintage bicycle, and Lexa owns a record player, okay?  
> It's twee, it's precious, but just let me have this.
> 
> Also, just for a future note, I'm going to pretend Lexa did not appear in 3x16. I'm sure I'm in the minority here, but there was nothing I liked about that episode. The acting was bad. The writing was god-awful. The direction was just embarrassing. The worst part for me was that the interactions between Lexa and Clarke felt cold and rushed. This was their last interaction ever, and it really needed to pack an emotional punch instead of falling totally flat. Naturally, I'm going to blame Jason for that.

 

**December 31, 2350 11:18 PM**          

 

Lexa towered over Clarke as she kneeled on the sidewalk and chained her vintage bicycle to the flickering street lamp outside of the apartment building.  She peered up at the starless sky, a different shade of dark than usual, and she thought of the bright, hectic activity going on downtown and at Polis Tower.  She had actually been in Polis Tower once, a long time ago, on a field trip when she was in elementary school, before she enrolled in the military academy.  She remembered being a child and looking up in wonder at its absurd height and the floors upon floors of rooms.  It was the oldest building in the country that was still standing.         

Lexa motioned for Clarke to follow her inside to her first-floor apartment. 

The door opened to reveal a small one-bedroom apartment.  It was bland in design, and there was no color on the walls, not even artwork or a calendar for important dates and occasions.   

“Home sweet home,” Lexa said as she tossed her keys on the coffee table in the living room.  She entered the kitchen and grabbed two glasses from the cupboard and filled them with cool water.  She stayed by the sink, and Clarke leaned against the refrigerator as they hydrated themselves.   

“So, how long have you lived in Polis?”

“Most of my life.”

“Oh.  Well, how long have you lived here?” Clarke asked as she gestured to specify the apartment. 

“Six years.”

“Oh.  Okay.” 

“What?”

“Nothing.  It just looks like you moved in yesterday.” 

“The less you own, the more freedom you have,” Lexa answered as she gulped the water.  Clarke narrowed her eyes and quirked her eyebrows, and she fought off the urge to kiss her sweet confusion away.  “I served in the military for a number of years, ever since I was twelve, and I never had much desire to make it a home since I was never home anyway.”

Clarke smiled wistfully, “You’ve traveled the world then?”  She listened to Lexa list off the names of several countries, one she never even heard of before.  She dreamed of going overseas and helping women in developing countries, specifically in the areas of healthcare and sexual assault prevention.  There was plenty to improve upon in New America, that was true, but situations were absolutely dire elsewhere.  Her dream would have to remain a dream.  “I grew up in Arkadia…”

Lexa scoffed, “Fucking Arkadia.”

“We’re not all violent, ignorant, self-important assholes, you know?”

“So, you know your own stereotypes?”

“Misconceptions,” Clarke corrected.  Lexa smirked, shrugged her shoulder, and refilled her glass with more water.  “Anyway.  I grew up in Arkadia, and Polis is as far as I got.  Not that there’s anything wrong with that.  I don’t believe in fate or destiny or any of that shit, but I think I was meant to be here.  I was always drawn to this settlement for some reason, even when I was a little kid.  I would see Polis on the news or in a movie, and I was just totally fascinated.” 

Lexa moved closer to Clarke with a confident stride.  She took her empty glass and set it down on the counter.  “There is one part of Polis you haven’t seen yet.”  She reached for her hand and linked their fingers together, and she led Clarke to her bedroom. 

Lexa pushed open the door with her foot.  A queen-sized mattress rested on a box spring in the corner of the room.  A tall bookcase packed tight full of books stood against the wall; additional stacks of paperbacks were on the floor since there was no more space on the shelves.  Four gold medals were enclosed in a frame that hung on another wall. 

Clarke approached the frame, squinted in an effort to try to read the tiny writing etched on each medal, and looked back at Lexa with a warm smile.  “You never told me you were some kind of hero.  It’s the only thing on display in your apartment.  You should be really proud of this, Lexa.”  Clarke was pleased to see the quiet grin creep up on her face, a welcomed change from the usual unaffected expression and pursed lips.

Clark noticed the record player by the bed and the crate of records next to it, and she was instantly awestruck.  Lexa sat down on the mattress and watched as she dropped to the floor and rummaged through her collection, mouth agape in marvel.  “I take it you like music?” 

“Do you know how rare record players are?  Where did you even get this?”

“My grandmother, but I’m not sure where she got it from.  When she gave it to me, she said, ‘You better not break this.  This could be worth a lot of money someday.’  We didn’t have much back then.”  Lexa smirked as Clarke chose an album, carefully pulled out the record like it was a time bomb, and touched vinyl for the first time.  “You want to listen to that one?  I can put it on for you.”  Lexa crouched down on the floor and set it up for her.  She brought the tone arm down, and the needle glided along the grooves, filling the room with a satisfying crackle until a piano started to play several pairs of notes and then formed a melancholy melody.  The singer was a woman, and her voice was deep, powerful, and filled with so much goddamn longing and heartbreak it could conjure tears.    

Lexa got up and returned to the bed, and Clarke continued to listen to the song until it ended with a crescendo of piano and cymbals.  Another depressing song soon started to play.  She turned around and found Lexa intently staring at her.  Clarke bit her bottom lip and climbed to her feet.  She stood in front of Lexa, and their knees bumped together.  “You didn’t exactly invite me back to your place to listen to music.” 

“I didn’t exactly invite you back to my place at all.”

Clarke laughed and nodded, “You’re right.  You got me there.” 

“But since you’re here…”  Lexa spread her legs wider and brought Clarke closer.  She made a point to maintain eye contact as she brought her hands under her navy blue skirt and caressed soft thighs.  “What do your one-night stand fantasies consist of?” 

“Meeting an attractive woman at a bar.  Going home with her.  Gushing over her record collection.” 

“We’re doing pretty good so far.” 

Clarke smiled and then sucked on her bottom lip as she felt Lexa play with the waistband and edges of her underwear.  “I wanted you to fuck me the moment I saw you.”  Lexa paused for a second as the sexy confession went straight to her clit.  She played it cool by slowly lowering her underwear down her legs instead of giving into the desire to aggressively rip them off.  Clarke stepped out of the skimpy material as it reached the floor.  

Lexa unzipped her skirt and pulled it down, and it joined her underwear on the beige carpet.  She watched as Clarke unbuttoned her denim blouse; the last button uncovered golden, trimmed pubic hair and enticing wet folds.  The sight of Clarke like this was beyond arousing.  Naked from the waist down.  Denim blouse opened.  Black bra and large breasts exposed.  Sapphire eyes pleaded to come harder than she had ever come before.  

Lexa grabbed her ass and brought her to her mouth, and Clarke instinctively placed a hand on her shoulder and one at the back of her neck.  She teased at her opening, traced along its edges, and poked her tongue inside.  The first noise Clarke released was a husky purr.  That husky purr was followed by a series of breathy sighs as Lexa removed her tongue, dragged it through tangy flesh, and wasted no time finding and massaging her sensitive clit.  She was rewarded with a low moan and a tighter grip on the back of her neck.  She slipped in one finger and then another, curling and moving them against the ridges of her warm, slick wall, as her tongue kept its fervent pace and pressure.

“I’m going to come in an embarrassingly short amount of time if you keep doing that.”  

Lexa lifted her head and gazed up at Clarke.  Her mouth was parted in a satisfied half-smile.  Her eyes were closed.  Her cheeks had a tinge of pink to them.  She was unearthly beautiful.  Lexa kept a firm hand on her ass and continued to fuck her with her fingers.  “Is there an orgasm quota that we cannot exceed?”  The half-smile turned into a full one, and Lexa decided she could get used to this, apocalypse be damned.

Clarke opened her eyes.  Lexa looked a little too pleased with herself, but that steady confidence was incredibly admirable and captivating.  She glanced over at the digital alarm clock on the window sill and noted that the glowing red numbers were 12:06.  Happy New Year, indeed.   

Lexa returned her attention to the swollen clit in front of her.  Clarke shifted her hands to thread her fingers through brunette locks and moved her hips in time with vigorous licks and thrusts.  A loud moan escaped her and then another as her legs and thighs started to shake.  She came less than a minute later with an appreciative ‘Oh my fucking God.’  Lexa extracted her fingers, sticky and coated in translucent evidence of an awesome orgasm, and leaned back on the bed. 

Clarke surprised her by climbing onto her lap and straddling her.  She cupped her face and then her mouth was on hers, strong, soft lips moving against each other in frantic, ceaseless kisses.  She could taste whiskey and the peppermint oil in her lip balm.  They soon fell back on the mattress, Clarke on top of Lexa, and attempted to slow their pace, opting for deeper, leisurely kisses with brushes of tongue. 

Clarke pawed at the black sleeveless shirt under her and started to push it up; Lexa helped her the rest of the way and unhooked her bra, slipping it off and tossing it to the side.  The denim blouse that still hung loosely around her torso was pulled down her arms, and her bra was added to the pile of clothes on the floor.  Clarke settled her mouth at her slender neck and left a trail of kisses and nibbles across her skin while she thumbed at a hard nipple.  Lexa was already panting.  Her clit was fucking aching to be touched. 

“Clarke,” Lexa commanded as she felt a wet tongue on her other nipple, “I need you to make me come.”  Clarke moved back up her body, and their bruised lips connected in languid fashion again.  She unbuttoned and unzipped her black jeans with tenacious fingers and slipped her hand inside soaking wet underwear.  Lexa almost, _almost,_ whimpered when Clarke started rubbing her clit in a lazy rhythm.  She definitely whimpered when Clarke took her hand out of her underwear. 

Clarke got on her knees on the floor and tugged at her black jeans.  Lexa lifted her ass and pushed them down, along with her underwear.  Clarke pulled them off in a hurry, and Lexa expectantly spread her legs, anticipating that initial lick that would make her cry out in glorious relief.  Clarke inched forward, her tongue made delicious contact with her opening and traced the length of her slit up to her throbbing clit, and Lexa had been stunned into silence as pleasure rocked her.  She could not help the guttural moan that rushed out of her when she felt another slow lick and thumbs that gently rolled her nipples. 

Clarke leaned in more, sucked her clit into her mouth, and repeatedly flicked it with her tongue with generous enthusiasm.  She liked the way Lexa put her hand on the back of her head and forced her to stay exactly where they both wanted her to be as she moved against her face and uttered moans and grunts of complete ecstasy.  Lexa eventually tipped over the edge, and an intense orgasm ripped through her and left her heart beating out of her chest.

Lexa chuckled and exhaled a deep breath of satisfaction.  She propped herself up on her elbows, looked down between her legs, and saw Clarke grinning and resting the side of her head against her thigh while her thumb caressed her hipbone.  They stared at each other.   Fondly.  Longingly.  Endlessly. 

 

* * *

   

The first time Clarke noticed the large tattoo on her back was when Lexa got out of bed to use the bathroom.  It was a weird, abstract design of black lines and shapes and filled-in circles.  She swore she had seen that exact image before.  Clarke got a better view of it later on, in the early morning, after they finally stopped fucking and going down on each other, when blissful fatigue set in.  Lexa rolled over onto her side, and Clarke took the opportunity to study her tattoo.  She traced a finger down her spine but could not place the design. 

“You should consider staying.” 

“Sleeping over doesn’t sound like a proper one-night stand to me,” Clarke answered as she nuzzled closer, pressed herself against the shapely ass next to her, and wrapped her arm around her waist under the blanket.

“But cuddling is perfectly acceptable?” Lexa smirked as she brought the hand at her stomach up to her chest.  She felt a puff of air on her shoulder blade and hoped it was a sigh of comfort and contentment.  “What are you going to do today?”

Clarke took a deep breath and lifted her head to peek at the alarm clock.  It was going on three o’clock in the morning.  Fuck.  She had to be at the clinic in four hours.  It would be her last shift ever.  There would be no more patients, no more early mornings, no more emergency phone calls.  Sexual and reproductive health had been her passion ever since she started working there after college.  She never thought her purpose would come to an abrupt end.  “Go to work.  Call my mom and say good-bye.  Wallow in despair.  What about you?”

Lexa swallowed the lump in her throat and whispered, “I don’t know.”  She rolled onto her other side and faced Clarke.  “Read a book.  Take a walk.  Think about you.”  She raised her hand and smoothed her fingers over wavy, blonde hair.  “I was honorably discharged two weeks ago.  I do nothing.  I owe nothing.  I have no responsibilities.  I don’t know what to do with myself.”  Lexa had been ready to die since she joined the military, but boredom was a foreign concept.

Clarke leaned forward and brushed her lips against ridiculously soft ones.  Lexa maneuvered on top of her, and the kiss went from chaste to hot and heavy.  Clarke reluctantly broke away after a minute and placed a gentle kiss to her cheek and then put her arms around her neck in a sad embrace that felt way too final.  “I wish I had met you sooner.”

         

* * *

        

_Blood.  Searing pain.  Inevitable death._

_Lexa lay on the soft furs of the bed as black poured out of the burning wound on her stomach.  The tears were unstoppable.  The physical pain was undeniable and excruciating, but the deep ache in her heart was indescribable.  To find love and to lose it a mere moment later was tragic and unfair, but as a commander, tragedy and unfairness was par for the course.  It was a hard truth to accept, but it was what it was._

_Clarke was distraught.  She was stubborn and idealistic, but she knew the fight was over too.  Lexa struggled to hang on as she listened to her final words._

_“In peace, may you leave the shore.  In love, may you find the next.  Safe passage on your travels, until our final journey to the ground.  May we meet again.”_

_Clarke kissed her then.  It was the last sensation she felt before every ounce of life faded away and then turned dark forever._

 

Hot tears streamed down her cheeks when green eyes snapped open.  Her hand clutched at her unstained and unwounded stomach.  Lexa exhaled a shaky breath and wiped away the unexpected emotion that rolled down her face.  What a fucked up dream.  She could still feel how soft and comfortable the furs had been under her dying body.  She could still feel the chills and the uncontrollable shakes as more blood gushed out of the gaping hole in her stomach.  She could still feel the warmth of that light kiss, of that last kiss, of the wetness of tears that mixed with her own. 

Clarke. 

Lexa turned her head and noticed the other side of the bed was empty.  She gradually sat up with her back against the wall.  She was disappointed, but she was not going to dwell.  There was no future with Clarke because there was no future, period. 

Lexa climbed out of bed, walked through the living room, and was greeted with the smell of fresh coffee.  She entered the kitchen and grabbed a cup from the cupboard.  She picked up the warm glass pot, filled her ceramic mug with coffee, and saw a note on the counter. 

Four words had been scribbled on a coffee filter and signed by Clarke in sharp handwriting: 

May we meet again.

 


	3. The World Is So Pale Next To You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I made myself watch that scene in 3x07 for the first time since I saw it play out on TV to write parts of this thing. Never again, man, fuck that. Anyway. Thank you for reading. We're about to head deeper into the Twilight Zone...
> 
> Oh, also, none of that hokey, poorly executed A.I. bullshit is going to show up here. 
> 
> PS. I'm going to add a happy ending tag to this in case people are expecting the worse. Everything is going to be okay, scout's honor.

 

 

 

**January 1, 2351 10:30 AM**

 

The bed still smelled like Clarke, the lavender and sandalwood scent of her perfume lingering on the pillowcase and the unkempt sheets.  Lexa set her book down and rested the back of her head against the wall.  She had read the same paragraph four times and still had no comprehension of it.  She blamed Clarke for her lack of focus.  She missed her. 

She remembered missing her.

Before.

She remembered doing a lot of pacing. 

Those three months had felt like an eternity.

Lexa huffed out a sigh and crawled out of bed.  She had no idea what the hell was going on, but she was convinced she shared a connection to Clarke, one that went beyond a one-night stand, one that started in the past and reconvened in the present. 

Lexa bent down and picked up her black jeans off the floor.  She slipped them on over her boxer briefs.  She glanced over at the alarm clock on the window sill to check the time but found a blank screen instead of bright red numbers.  She went over to the light switch and flipped it on and off to no avail.  The power was out, probably across the entire settlement, and she was glad she had stocked up on candles; those after Christmas sales were far too good to pass up.  She exited her bedroom and made her way to the kitchen. 

She grabbed the glass she used last night from the sink and filled it with water.  She took several gulps and then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.  Her attention drifted to the coffee filter that still lay on the counter.  She picked it up and read it out loud, “May we meet again.” 

_Blue eyes brimmed with tears, flecked with piercing hurt and heartbreak.  Soft lips that she had just kissed for the first time were still parted in disbelief and devastation.  The decision to save her people had been easy and immediate in spite of her growing feelings for her, but every step felt heavier than the next as she trudged up that hill and left Clarke behind at Mount Weather._

Lexa swallowed the lump in her throat.  She recalled that she had expected a reaction of anger, maybe even intense rage, but she did not anticipate absolute brokenness.  Nothing prepared her for the consequence of resentment.  She could still see the look of sheer hatred in those electric eyes and feel the spray of spit that hit her face and chest when the great Wanheda was brought to her, bound and battered.  Clarke had been like a feral animal, full of fight and distrust and violent threats.  Going a week without seeing her had been secretly agonizing.  ‘Love is weakness,’ she had reminded herself, like a daily affirmation, especially when she felt an acute pang to her heart at the prospect of never kissing her again.  She could no longer deny that she had become weak for Clarke.

Lexa was still weak for Clarke. 

‘Death is not the end’ suddenly had a new meaning other than a reference to the afterlife.

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

**January 1, 2351 10:30 AM**

 

The vague doodle that Clarke started drawing as she waited for walk-in appointments had developed into a full-fledged sketch of Lexa.  Before Clarke left her apartment, she had contemplated waking her up to say good-bye, but as she stood at the foot of the bed and observed her peaceful form illuminated by the soft glow of twilight peeking in through the window, she thought better of it.  She took a mental photograph instead, memorizing the beautiful, specific details that made up Lexa, and forced herself to walk out the door.  Her heart had not stopped feeling heavy since then, as if she had little weights in her chest.  Knots had formed in her stomach on her bicycle ride to work, and she felt a sharp twist in her gut every time the thought of never seeing her or touching her again entered her mind. 

The computer and the ceiling lights suddenly flickered and then totally cut out.  The clinic went silent except for the swearing and murmuring of her co-workers.  Clarke could hear them declaring that it was time to call it a day and go home, and she was inclined to agree.  She had treated two patients in the last three and a half hours.  Nobody cared about safe sex or birth control or pap smears when there was less than twenty-four hours left to live.  Not even her, apparently, as evidenced by last night.    

Clarke grabbed her leather messenger bag and rummaged through her desk.  She had started working at the clinic four years ago as a nurse and then upgraded to the position of physician assistant once she completed graduate school.  She placed her drawing in a manila folder and put it in her bag.  She found a tiny, plastic brontosaurus, a good luck charm from her childhood, amongst the junk in her drawers and slipped it into her pocket.  There was nothing else worth taking home.  She glanced up at the wall and examined her framed college diplomas.  They represented six years of hard work and determination for a future she would never really get to experience.  At least she would never have to worry about paying off the balance of her astronomical school loans. 

 

* * *

* * *

 

**January 1, 2351 11:52 AM**

 

The casual walk to Planned Parenthood turned into a jog as Lexa got closer to the clinic.  As her black boots smacked against the pavement, it occurred to her that she may be the only one who could remember the past, their past.  She had no fucking clue what to even say to Clarke if that was the case.  The creeping doubt slowed her brisk pace and tarnished her excitement. 

_Lexa turned the corner and combed her fingers through wavy, brunette hair.  She found Clarke standing in her bedroom.  She stared.  She blinked.  She swallowed.  Lexa knew that she had come to a decision neither of them liked or wanted._

_“When do you leave?”_

_“Now.”   Clarke crossed the room and stopped in front of Lexa.  The shining sun highlighted her long eyelashes. “I’m sorry.”_

_The disappointment went straight to her heart and then to her eyes as she fought back tears. “Don’t be.  You have to go back.  They’re your people.  That’s why I – that’s why you’re you.”  Lexa was the Commander, brave and tough and cunning, but declaring her love to a teenage girl wise beyond her years scared the shit out of her.  The ‘what if’ of Clarke not feeling the same way would be the greatest defeat she had ever suffered._

_“Maybe someday, you and I will owe nothing to our people.”_

_“I hope so.”  Hands tenderly grasped each other’s forearms, and Lexa never wanted to let go.  “May we meet again.”_

‘Someday’ was now, and Lexa took off running with renewed vivacity.  She refused to stop or slow down, not for cars or other pedestrians or close calls with curbs and uneven sidewalks, until she reached Clarke.  She sprinted with a slight smile that only grew wider as she narrowed the distance to her destination.  Four blocks and a few twists and turns later, sweaty, out of breath, heart slamming against her chest, she marched up the ramp and approached the doors of the clinic only to find a white sign taped to the inside of the glass that read ‘CLOSED’ in familiar handwriting.

Lexa pounded on the glass and yanked on the door handles.  She peered inside and willed Clarke to appear, her razor focus trained on a purple door in the back of the room, but she never came.  She finally turned around and leaned over the metal ramp railing.  Discouraged green eyes looked up to a rich, pristine blue sky.  

   

* * *

* * *

 

**January 1, 2351 12:30 PM**

 

The clinic had officially closed down an hour ago.  Clarke was the last employee to leave and lock up the building.  She hopped on her bicycle and took the fastest path to her house.  She had heard about riots breaking out across the settlement.  There was no law.  There was no order.  The local news reported a peace rally had been organized at Polis Tower to offset the escalating violence.  She was still undecided if she was going to go or stay home.  The finest five dollar bottle of White Zinfandel chilled in her refrigerator for a special occasion.  Certain death seemed like a special occasion.

Clarke pulled up to a modest home made of gray brick and walked her bicycle through the front door.  She flicked the kickstand down with her foot and parked it against the living room wall.  She went to her bedroom, dug out the little dinosaur, and set it on top of her dresser.  Clarke quickly undressed and tossed her clothes in the hamper in her closet.  She smelled of sweat and musky sex, not the most pleasant combination, and jumped in the shower in the bathroom across the hallway.

The water was hot and relaxing against her sore body as the soap and shampoo washed down the drain.  She placed her hands on the shower wall, and the details of last night flashed from one memory to the next.  Clarke closed her eyes and was transported back between toned, curvaceous thighs and dripping wet arousal.  She could have stayed there forever.  The image of Lexa moaning, writhing against the soft furs, and tightly grasping the intricately carved headboard as she made her come with her mouth had been burned into her brain.

Wait a minute. 

Clarke opened her eyes, but she could not shake the memory.  She even remembered what had led up to that moment of consummation.  She had come to say good-bye, and Lexa walked out looking like _that_ , more beautiful and breathtaking than ever, like a goddamn goddess, and she just knew she was going to be late to cross the blockade. 

She turned off the shower, wringed her hair, and climbed out of the tub.  She wrapped a towel around her body and stood on the mat in front of the medicine cabinet mirror.  “What the fuck is a blockade?” she asked herself as she ran a brush through her clean hair.

Clarke used the towel to dry off the rest of her body and walked over to her bedroom again.  She slipped on undergarments and threw on an olive green t-shirt, a navy cardigan, and her favorite gray jeans.  She decided she could not stay home.  The thought of being alone with her thoughts was not helping her growing anxiety, especially when her thoughts had become nonsensical visions.

Clarke had to make a phone call before she went anywhere, the one she had dreaded since news of the apocalypse spread through the media like wildfire.  Her mom had become her go-to person, her source of strength and wisdom, but they still maintained their classic push-pull dynamic.  Clarke was used to her taking control of a situation and making everything okay.  She was taught at a young age that every problem had a solution and that every mistake could be fixed.  It was one of the reasons why she got into medicine in the first place.  

She exited her bedroom and headed for the living room to locate her clunky flip phone.  She went to her leather messenger bag on the couch and pulled the flap over to gain access to its contents.  She grabbed her phone and flipped it open, but small text in the corner of the screen indicated that there was no service.  She scrolled through her contact list, selected her mom, and pressed a button to dial her number, but there was silence.  Clarke snapped her phone shut in frustration.

Clarke stomped to the kitchen and approached the telephone attached to the wall.  She picked up the handset out of its cradle but did not hear a dial tone.  She clicked the switch-hook several times, but no sound came out of the earpiece.  She hung up the phone, lost and crestfallen, and took a seat at the small kitchen table.  She blinked back tears that stung and threatened to spill over as she tried not to panic.  The opportunity to say good-bye to the woman who had fiercely loved her, supported her, and challenged her had been lost forever.  She buried her face in folded arms on top of the table and flooded her sleeves with perpetual tears.

 

* * *

 

**January 1, 2351 2:16 PM**

 

Clarke slowly lifted her head and winced at the discomfort of a stiff neck.  She looked over at the sliding glass door and squinted as sunlight invaded her kitchen and struck her tired eyes.  She rubbed the crust out of her eyes, glanced at her wristwatch, and continued to sit to gather her bearings.  It had been a long time since she had cried like that. 

_“In peace, may you leave the shore.  In love, may you find the next.  Safe passage on your travels, until our final journey to the ground.  May we meet again.”  Clarke leaned down and kissed her and felt a faint press of lips against her own.  She and Lexa had been tangled up in each other just a short time ago.  The future seemed uncertain, but there was a trace of hope for something real and everlasting between them.  A stray bullet, a fucking stray bullet, had put an end to that before her bed was even cold._

_Clarke pulled away.  Lexa lay still, perfectly still, dark eyes open.  She was gone. Irrepressible tears slipped down her cheeks as Clarke reached out and shut eyes that would never look upon her with pride and warm affection ever again._

Clarke clasped her hands together and rested them under her chin.  Two hundred years later, and the memory still inspired quiet rage and profound sadness.  She was ashamed to admit that she had never properly grieved for Lexa.  She had muted howls of regret and swallowed sobs of sorrow to focus on saving her people, saving the twelve clans, saving the whole fucking world, but she allowed herself to carry the overwhelming burden of responsibility for her death.  ‘Life should be about more than just surviving,’ but life had become nothing but background noise after she lost Lexa. 

Clarke scooted the chair back and got up.  She went out to the living room and stopped at the mirror that hung on the wall.  She ran a hand through her hair to give it some body.  Her nose was a little pink, and her eyes were slightly puffy from crying.  She turned around and scanned the room.  Her attention landed on the clock and the position of its hands, on the stubborn red wine stain by the couch, on the old photograph from the ‘30s of her mom in big sunglasses at the beach perched on the end table. 

Clarke grabbed her bicycle and silently said good-bye to her home as she walked out the front door.

 

* * *

* * *

 

**January 1, 2351 2:44 PM**

 

Lexa forgot how much she loved the smell of the library.  Countless rows of old books were responsible for the musty aroma that brought her back to childhood nostalgia.  The library had been her sanctuary when she was a young girl, checking out and finishing a new book every week, usually non-fiction and usually about war or nature; she had been quite a precocious child growing up. 

Lexa hunted down the history section.  She kneeled on the floor, and her eyes skimmed over numbers printed on the spines of books until she found what she was looking for.  She eased out a title on the early history of Polis and Arkadia, sat down with her back against the sturdy metal shelf, and started paging through relevant chapters.  It was difficult to not feel insulted by the glaring inaccuracies.   

The Ark People were considered ‘heroes,’ and the Grounders were referred to as ‘savages’ who had been conquered in order to ensure peace and prosperity.  The credit went to that murderous asshole, Bellamy Blake, and his ‘invaluable assistant,’ Clarke Griffin; ‘invaluable assistant,’ Lexa read that and felt a prick of jealousy.  She wanted Clarke to find happiness after her, but she hoped the next in line to love her had not been Bellamy fucking Blake. 

Lexa reached the end of the chapter.  There was no genocide.  There was no ‘blood must not have blood.’  There was no mention of herself or her diplomatic success in uniting the twelve clans.  It was like she had been totally erased from the narrative. 

Lexa flipped the page and learned about the imminent threat of meltdowns at a dozen nuclear power plants.  She got to the part in which the Ark People needed a volunteer to stay behind and shut down the reactor of the closest power station to their settlement, and she just knew it would be Clarke to push the button.  She had been irradiated to death in an effort to save her people, and her people went on to design and develop Polis and Arkadia into what they are today. 

Clarke had died eight months after Lexa. 

 

* * *

* * *

 

**January 1, 2351 4:00 PM**

 

Clarke chained her bicycle to a parking meter near Polis Tower.  The traffic lights no longer functioned, but the streets were relatively empty of cars.  It reminded her of Christmas Day.  A driver passed her every now and then, maybe on his or her way to visit a family member, but the settlement was like a ghost town.  She walked by Polis Tower and noticed that peace rally demonstrators had already started to congregate; a large crowd would no doubt be expected as their time dwindled.  ‘Blood must not have blood,’ they started to chant in unison, and Clarke wished that Lexa was with her to witness her legacy in action. 

She looked up at the ludicrously tall building, and a chill ran through her to cause a shiver.  She pulled her navy blue cardigan sweater tighter against her body, but the light, cool breeze was actually nice and refreshing.  She once read in a science magazine that the Mid-Atlantic used to have consistently cold winters with ice and snow.  That was before Earth went to shit, before the increasing temperatures of global warming threw the world into climate chaos. 

She wandered around until she came across the Polis Art Museum.  It was a decent-sized building constructed with concrete and large tinted windows that had been smashed to pieces.  She had lived in Polis for four years, loved art as much as medicine, but she had never stepped foot inside.  She carefully maneuvered over shards of glass and entered the museum. 

Clarke moved through each section and picked out her favorite paintings.  Looters had gotten to some of the works of art because there were title cards but spacious gaps on the walls.  She walked through a wide doorway and took a moment at each painting, appreciating the natural talent and the use of color.  She turned around and spotted a familiar sketch at the other end of the room.  Clarke blinked and approached it with her mouth parted in astonishment.  She stood in front of the rough drawing, her drawing, the one of a dreamy, sleeping Lexa that she had started but never finished.  The artist was unknown, the title was unknown, but the date was circa 2150. 

By the time Clarke exited the building, one more piece of art had gone missing. 

    

* * *

* * *

 

**January 1, 2351 5:12 PM**

 

The universe was giving them a second chance, albeit really shitty timing, and Lexa still had sixteen hours to find her love and spend the rest of their lives together.  She walked up and down random blocks, exploring parts of Polis she had never seen before, for much of the afternoon.  She figured she and her achy feet would take a break at her apartment and then go back out.  The bar they met at last night was going to be her first stop.  She was going to check out that peace rally too. 

Lexa removed her black leather jacket and slung it over her shoulder, leaving her in a dark red v-neck t-shirt and with a fresh collection of goosebumps across sweaty skin.  She admired the vibrant shades of pink and purple and orange that dominated the sky as the sun set for the last time ever.  She looked straight ahead and noticed that the last bit of sunlight brought out the sparkle of the vintage, metallic blue bicycle attached to the streetlamp outside of her apartment building.  She choked down an abrupt sob and placed her hand over her mouth.  ‘Don’t fucking cry,’ she told herself as she picked up the pace, ‘Don’t fucking cry,’ as Clarke stood up from the stairs of the stoop, ‘Don’t fucking cry’ as warm, gentle hands cupped her face and blue eyes wildly searched her green ones.  

Clarke threw her arms around her, and Lexa dropped her leather jacket to the sidewalk to hold her just as tightly and tenderly.  Clarke buried her face in her shoulder, and soft lips left kisses at the base of her neck.  “Ai hod yu in,” she whispered. 

Lexa smiled a genuine smile, and a single tear streaked down her cheek.  “I love you too.”        

 


	4. Love's Like A Pantheon, It Carries On Forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the end, last chapter + the epilogue. 
> 
> It took me a little longer to write, but that's because of Stranger Things and Dark Souls III. I also started writing this chapter and couldn't stop, so there you go. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and checking out my little story. This is for #teamemo and #teamhorny, by the way.

 

 

 

**January 1, 2351 5:34 PM**

 

The soft glow of candlelight pulsed, the smell of cedar and balsam permeating the kitchen, as distorted shadows slinked along the walls and cabinets.  Lexa grabbed two bottles of beer from the freezer.  She was happy to find they were still cool to the touch as she removed their caps with a steel opener.  She turned around and passed a bottle to Clarke.  Dark blue eyes looked upon her with a hint of sadness, but a relaxed smile dangled on the corners of her lips. 

Clarke wore her heart on her sleeve; it was one of her defining characteristics.  She was open and passionate, especially when it came to her benevolent values and beliefs, and she had never been good at concealing her true feelings, even if she tried and denied and pushed them away to the deep recesses of her mind. 

Lexa stepped closer and took her free hand in her own.  Her thumb brushed over her knuckles and traced the bony ridges, and she felt Clarke squeeze her fingers in return.  It was a simple gesture, but Lexa had longed to act on this innocent affection.  She fondly remembered going on walks with Clarke, traipsing through the lush green forest, admiring the architecture of the undercroft, browsing the wares of the marketplace, and she had always been acutely aware of the proximity of their hands as they ambled along side-by-side and stole periodic glances at each other.  She thought about reaching out and holding her hand every time their fingers came into accidental contact, but she had convinced herself that Clarke would never accept her warm touch. 

Two hundred years later, Lexa was standing in a dimly lit kitchen, where a familiar forest of tall trees and vivid shades of green used to grow, holding her hand. 

Clarke had death on her mind.  Lexa could see the wheels turning in her brain; she was already trying to ponder a way to prolong the inevitable, but there was no way to problem-solve the apocalypse.   Lexa had death on her mind too, as per usual.  Serving in the military had taught her to expect the unexpected, a bullet to the head, a psychological breakdown, a detonated bomb blowing up the platoon, but the end of the world came with an expiration date and ample time to plan.  She used to picture herself on the edge of the roof of her apartment building, sitting and drinking a beer, making a toast to global catastrophe.  There was beauty in the power of destruction, even if it meant the obliteration of humanity, because it would lead to a new beginning, the next phase of the unknown.

Lexa would die the only way that seemed right and made sense now, next to Clarke, holding her, kissing her, proclaiming her love until their hearts stopped beating.  She needed to be strong for her, for both of them, as she tried not to dwell on their remaining fifteen and a half hours. 

“Death is not the end, Clarke.” 

Clarke rolled her eyes.  That even tone could be infuriating.  “Is that what your spirit told you?  I know I shouldn’t be skeptical, clearly, but we just found each other again.  I lost you once, and I never recovered.” 

“You never had the chance to recover.”  The glare Lexa received in response almost made her recoil and release her hand.  She was not the most tactful person when it came to words, but she had not realized her death was such a sensitive subject for Clarke.  “What?  You had eight months to save the world and then you were gone too.”

“I adored you, did you know that?” Clarke whispered.   

Lexa swallowed thickly.  “A part of me had hoped you did.”

“I loved you so much more than I ever let on, Lexa.”  It was frustrating, the fact that Clarke had failed so miserably in expressing her emotions to her champion, her confidant, her love.  She had clung to duty and responsibility, attempted to maintain cut and dry boundaries, and she supported her people and their best interest at the expense of a selfish chance at happiness.  “I wish I never left your bed that day.”

“I almost asked you to stay.”

A tightness settled in her chest, and Clarke released a heavy sigh to alleviate the tension.  She remembered standing at the side of the bed and putting her clothes back on while Lexa, pensive and despondent, twisted and pulled at the fur of the blanket.  Clarke sat down, touched her hand, and met weepy eyes that burned with a cool green fire.  She feared that if she did not get up and leave at that very moment, she was never going to leave at all and abandon the family and friends who had counted on her to fix everything.  She had said good-bye with a gentle kiss and a hazy promise that their one day together would not be their last.        

“I know you had to go back for your people.  Your loyal devotion was always commendable.”  Lexa put her half-empty beer on the counter next to the refrigerator.  She moved a hand to long blonde hair and stroked her fingers through wavy locks.  “I went to the library, and I found a book on the early history of Polis and Arkadia because I wanted to learn what I missed out on by not being there with you.  I read about how you died in a sentence or two, and I don’t know how the whole world just didn’t fucking stop without you in it.”

The thoughtful words hit her square in the heart.  The whole world had gone to hell without Lexa, and Clarke had not allocated a single moment to mourn as she went on one tumultuous quest to another in order to save her people.  She chose to stay in that silent prison of blame and regret.  It was impossible to reconcile, being the cause of death of the woman that she secretly loved and cherished. 

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I didn’t feel a thing, quick and painless.”  Cold-cocking Bellamy in the face to get him out of the containment building had shattered her hand though.  Her shoulders had been weighed down with burden and responsibility since the delinquents fell from the sky to the earth, and this was one more sacrifice, one last sacrifice Clarke was willing to make for her people.  “I thought of you before I pressed the button and then there was nothingness.  Is it weird that I wonder what my body looked like when they found me?  Was I a mangled mess or just a pile of bones?”  She watched as Lexa pursed her lips and looked down at the tiled floor to erase the imagery from her brain.  “I had – I have so many hopes and dreams for us, for our future.  There’s no war.  There’s no Heda and Wanheda.  There’s no ‘your people’ and ‘my people.’  We simply get to be you and me.  Do you know how happy I would be to have a boring life with you, one where we make out and listen to records, save up and go on a nice vacation, get up at six o’clock in the morning and take our dog for a walk, and just grow old together?”

“Is now a bad time to tell you I’m more of a cat person?”

“Then we’ll take our cat for a walk.”

A warm grin pulled at the side of her mouth, but soft lips pouted when she noticed the tears clouding brilliant blue eyes.  Lexa grabbed her bottle of beer, held it up in a toast, and tried her best to maintain a smooth tone while she fought off her own emotions, “To our next lifetime together.”

“To our next lifetime together.”

Glass faintly clanked against glass. 

 

* * *

 

 

**January 1, 2351 6:40 PM**

 

Empty, ceramic bowls that had contained Honey Nut Cheerios sat on the wobbly coffee table.  With no working stove or microwave, dinner options were limited to the bare pantry.  Clarke relaxed with her back against the arm of the couch, legs stretched out along lumpy cushions, and Lexa reclined between spread open thighs, using her ample breasts as a pillow.  She held the framed, antiquated sketch of herself in her hands and examined the fine details of her sleeping form that Clarke had captured in black charcoal. 

“I want to finish it, but I think the paper will disintegrate if I touch it.”  The drawing Clarke had started earlier this morning was tucked in a manila folder in her messenger bag, and she suddenly realized she had walked out of the house without it.  Two different sketches of Lexa would go uncompleted, but she hoped someone would stumble upon them in the future, maybe even herself if they got a third chance to be together. 

“I was so confused the first time I saw this.  I thought you would always view me as a heartless monster no matter what.”  Lexa traced her finger along the glass and remembered how nervous Clarke had seemed when she noticed her sketch, but the way dignified blue eyes had lifted and gazed at her with a flash of openness and vulnerability infused her with unspeakable hope and possibility.  “Do I really look that calm and angelic in my sleep?”

Clarke put her arms tighter around Lexa and glanced over her shoulder at the lines and curves on the worn paper.  “You had this impeccable balance of soft and strong.  You still do.  You’re the same, but you’re different.  You seem more laidback and have a wry sense of humor, less intense than you used to be with a scowl and black war paint, but you still have that poised yet tormented demeanor that is so attractive and intimidating.”    

Lexa carefully propped the piece of art beside the coffee table.  “You’re the one who approached me though, so I can’t be that scary, right?”  She smirked.  “You were always brave and courageous, Clarke, not necessarily because you wanted to be but because you had to be, to fulfill your role as a natural leader, and now, you just are.  The strongest men would shake in their boots if they attempted to address me but not you, never you.  You walked right up to me last night, you kept my attention, and I was ready to follow you anywhere.” 

“Are you a regular at that bar?”

“I’m not a regular anywhere.”

Clarke huffed out a sigh of relief.  “Good.  I don’t want to think about how many times we could have crossed paths but just missed each other by a second or two.”  Four years equaled over fourteen hundred days.  Polis was a large settlement with a dense population, and Lexa had been overseas for the majority of that time while Clarke put in long hours at the clinic to stay busy, to feel useful, to change the world one patient at a time.  That idealism was impenetrable.  “Did you – I mean, was there ever anyone special in your life?”

“I never had a significant relationship, no.  The military was my life since I was twelve, and I was too focused on studying and training and preparing for war to pursue a girlfriend or to fall in love.”  Military desensitization and the horrors of battle and bloodshed had fucked her up, to be honest.  New America had participated in several wars over the last decade, and Lexa had been on the front line for each of them.  Developing a real connection with a woman was difficult and took a lot of effort and energy.  Her sleep was permanently erratic; she tended to wake up early and stay up late because she was too restless.  She guessed that Clarke had the worst sleep of her life this morning, if she even slept at all.  “What about you?” 

“I had a high school sweetheart, but he and I broke up before our freshman year of college.  It was such a cute and innocent relationship.  We were both science nerds.  I never believed in faith or organized religion; my sacred texts were written by Carl Sagan and Rachel Carson and Charles Darwin.”  She felt Lexa nuzzle further into her chest and slide a hand over hers.  “I was in school and then I went for my master’s degree, and I carried on a fling here and there but nothing progressed beyond that, nothing until you.”                  

A quiet smile curved at her mouth.  Lexa tilted her head and gnawed on the inside of her cheek.  Nine hours, that’s how much time she and Clarke had spent together since the bar.  It was hard to fathom that they only had shared twenty-eight days in total together before that, when Polis was crude and primitive and lacked urban planning and technological advancements.  That everlasting spark between them was powerful enough to span lifetimes.  “What if we weren’t supposed to meet again before last night?  What if our memories came back for a reason?  What if I was meant to take that bullet, and you were meant to push that button two hundred years ago just to bring us to this very moment now?”

“There is no fate but what we make.”

“We are fate in the flesh, Clarke.”

 

* * *

 

**January 1, 2351 7:36 PM**

 

Lexa flicked her lighter with her thumb and brought its flame to the wick of the candle.  She set it on the bookshelf, turned around, and her mouth instantly went dry and slack.  Clarke was on her feet, pulling off her t-shirt, her gray jeans already unbuttoned and unzipped to reveal red striped underwear.  She never had this luxury before, to be able to drink her in from head to toe so openly, so shamelessly, without an ounce of insecurity or inappropriateness. 

Clarke glanced over at Lexa as she unfastened the hooks of her bra.  Hooded green eyes devoured every inch of her body.  She pulled off her bra, climbed out of her jeans, and approached Lexa.  She looked up at her, pupils blown wide with a sliver of color around the edges, brought her fingers to the button and zipper of her jeans, and started undoing them.  “Do you remember that night you came to my room, and you were wearing that black, slinky nightgown with the slit up to your thigh?”

A shy grin appeared at full lips, and Lexa nodded her head, “I wanted you to take notice of me.” 

“Oh, I took notice, Lexa.”  Clarke smiled and put her hands under her t-shirt to run her fingers along her ribs.  She recalled that intentional, challenging gaze that Lexa had left her with before she retired to her own quarters.  It had taken every bit of restraint she had not to pounce on her and drag her to bed right then and there.  “I think you know I took notice.  I think you know how much I wanted you even then.  If you would’ve stayed for just one more second…”  Clarke brought her hands further up and was pleased to find that Lexa was not wearing a bra as her thumbs caressed firm nipples.  

Lexa swallowed hard and licked her lips.  She slipped a hand in the back of her striped underwear and squeezed her ass.  “What would’ve happened, Clarke?”

Clarke slowly leaned toward Lexa and teasingly brushed her lips against hers.  The hand at her ass dipped lower, and long fingers discovered her silky arousal.  Clarke closed her eyes and heard Lexa expel a tortured sigh.  Her clit pulsed against her underwear.  She lightly pinched her nipple as she shifted her other hand out from under her t-shirt to the back of her neck to pull her closer.  Parted lips repeatedly made soft contact, and Clarke introduced a modest swipe of tongue in her mouth as the kiss escalated, as their underwear became damp and sticky, as their touches became more deliberate and determined.

Lexa took the bottom of her t-shirt and lifted it up and off of herself.  She felt Clarke yank her jeans down over her thighs, and she stepped out of them with a tug to each leg.  Tireless lips connected in a blistering kiss with the occasional stroke of tongue and accidental bump of teeth.  She caressed Clarke through her underwear and felt the wet heat that seeped through cotton material.

Clarke shifted her mouth away from Lexa and touched their foreheads together as she focused on the wonderful friction against her clit.  A raspy hum escaped her throat, and she hooked her fingers at the waistband of boxer briefs and started to maneuver them down over her amazing ass.   

Lexa directed her toward the bed.  Clarke got situated on the mattress and watched those boxer briefs hit the floor.  Lexa kneeled at the foot of the bed and pulled off her ruined underwear.  She climbed on top of Clarke, pinned her arms against the pillow, and lavished attention on her breasts and stiff nipples until she felt the slow movement of rocking hips under her own.  “Spread your legs, Clarke.” 

Clarke honored her request and then some.  She wrapped her legs around her waist and grabbed her ass, throbbing clit against throbbing clit, and with every purposeful flex of their haunches, the brink of orgasm remained steady and so fucking good.  “Oh God, please tell me you have a strap-on.” 

Lexa let go of her arms and slowed the movement of her hips.  “Do you want me to get it?” 

Clarke sat up a bit, brought her hand to her breast, and teased her nipple with gentle flicks of her thumb.  “I want to make you come first.”  She pulled Lexa down on top of her and kissed her, and her hand traveled lower until she felt wiry hair and slick folds that she longed to taste again.  She pushed a finger into her soaking wet opening.  “Do you remember the first time you thought about fucking me?”

Lexa gave her a pointed look and shook her head, “You don’t want to know.”  She continued to pant and straddle Clarke as a second finger was added for encouragement.  “Oh, fuck, Clarke.” 

Clarke slowly fucked her and kept a tight grip on her ass.  “The first time I fantasized about you, I was alone in the forest.  It became a daily habit after that.  I would spend most of the day hiding and hunting and hating you, but at night, when I was cold and couldn’t sleep, I would think about you.  I missed you in spite of everything.  I wanted you to find me.  I wanted to fight you.  I wanted you to have your way with me.”  Clarke brushed her thumb against her clit, and Lexa let out an anguished groan.  “Your turn.”

“The morning after you killed that boy you loved.”  Lexa glanced over at her with puppy dog eyes and expected her to stop and push her off of her.  Clarke curled her fingers instead and rubbed against spongy sensitive tissue, even more encouragement, and she was one step closer to the verge of orgasm.  “You were fearless and beautiful.  You impressed me, and I couldn’t help myself.  I still can’t help myself.”  Lexa cupped her face and captured her mouth with swollen lips.

Clarke ran her thumb through slippery flesh and landed on her clit, and she started to rub with the intention of making her come hard and fast.  They managed deep kisses in between short moans and gasping breaths.  Lexa felt that delightful searing ache at her clit, every soothing stroke bringing her closer to divine release, and the slight discomfort in her hips as she moved in strenuous rhythm with skillful fingers.  Her sweaty body jerked and tightened as she was conquered by rapturous pleasure, and she collapsed on top of Clarke with heavy sigh after heavy sigh. 

“Your heart is pounding,” Clarke noted as she put her arm around Lexa and ran her fingers through long brunette hair.  Lexa tilted her head to glance at the alarm clock but then she remembered the electricity had gone out earlier that morning.  It was strange, not knowing what time it was, not knowing how much time they had left together.  Clarke presented her wristwatch.  “It’s a quarter after eight, we have thirteen hours.” 

Lexa rolled off of Clarke and propped her head up on her elbow.  She traced a finger down her sternum and over her soft stomach and watched her nipples grow hard under her touch.  “Come here.”  Lexa settled onto her back and gestured for Clarke to get on top of her.  Slick and stringy arousal coated her modest abdominal muscles, and she implored her to come closer to her mouth with nudges to her luscious ass and the backs of her thighs.  Clarke crawled up her torso and placed her knees on either side of her head as she hovered above her inviting face.  She braced her hands against the wall, and she braced herself for much needed relief to quell the beat and the pulse in her cunt.    

Long fingers grasped her ass, and Lexa licked her tongue through velvety folds.  She moaned against her as she tasted a pleasant combination of sweet and sour and salty.  She focused at her opening and strained her tongue to drive it deep inside of her.  She heard Clarke whisper an ‘Oh, fuck, yeah,’ so she repeated the action several more times.  She pulled her tongue out and eagerly targeted her swollen clit.  Clarke bucked against her face and that unrelenting tongue, and brazen throaty moans tumbled out of her mouth.  She lingered on the edge of climax much longer than usual but savored every maddening sweeping caress until her body imploded with a flood of arousal and perpetual spasms.

Clarke eased herself off of Lexa, her thighs trembling from exertion, and sprawled out next to her.  Her chest rose and fell with ragged breaths.  “What a workout.  I really hope I don’t have to wait another two hundred years to feel your tongue inside of me again.” 

Lexa smiled, warm and sheepish, and wiped her mouth and chin with her hand.  Clarke and the sweet smell of sin were intoxicating, a distinct combination of sweat and earth and fine wine.  “I don’t think you need to worry about that.  You said we had thirteen hours, right?”

“Twelve and a half and ticking.”  Clarke turned on her side, kissed her shoulder, and curled her arm across her stomach.  “I don’t ever want to leave your bed again.” 

“Hold on.”  Lexa got up and left her room, and Clarke admired her sinewy back and enticing curves as she walked away.  She returned several minutes later and went to her closet.  She opened one of the dresser drawers and pulled out a silicone dildo and harness and then showed Clarke.  “Do you still want to, or would you rather cuddle and try to sleep?”

Clarke grinned, amused and definitely interested, and lifted her eyebrows.  She crawled over the mattress and approached Lexa as she fit her cock into the harness.  The dildo was sky blue and reasonable in size, and fresh arousal threatened to drip down her thighs.  Clarke excused herself to use the bathroom.  When she came back, she was greeted with the sight of Lexa lying on the bed, fingers laced under her head, rubber dick erect and attached at her waist via her black leather harness, waiting for her.  “How do you want me?” 

Lexa sat up and motioned for Clarke to come to her with a waggle of her fingers.  Clarke smirked, climbed on top, and straddled her thighs.  She took the cock in her hand and ran its head along her slit, giving her clit a series of quick slaps, and teased her opening.  The silicone toy glistened in the dim light, the untamed flame of the vanilla candle on the window sill reflecting off her wetness.  She looked up and noticed Lexa was staring at her, a predatory glint in dark eyes, and they were both paralyzed with want and desire. 

Lexa suddenly pushed her down on the bed and fell on top of her.  She kissed her, sloppy and desperate, and Clarke spread her legs and positioned the head of her cock at her opening.  Lexa slowly sank into her up to the base, and they shared another kiss.  Their hips rolled into each other at an unhurried pace.  Clarke clung to her back, nails digging into her shoulder blades, when the thrusts became faster and deeper. 

“Don’t ever stop fucking me,” Clarke ordered as she wrapped her legs around her waist and released a low moan.  She eventually moved a hand down her body and started to rub her sensitive clit in lazy circles with her fingers.  Lazy circles turned into frantic strokes as the need to get off increased every time six inches of fullness plunged into her.  Lexa whispered sweet nothings in her ear while she fucked her good and hard, and Clarke was cursing and whimpering and coming in no time. 

Lexa carefully pulled out of her and rolled over on her back.  She did not want to admit it, but exhaustion was kicking in.  She undid the leather straps and metal buckles and tossed her harness to the floor.  She felt Clarke snuggle closer.  If there was a perfect way to die, this was it, cuddling the woman she loved, thoroughly spent from awesome sex, heart bursting in her chest as if it could not contain the vastness of her joy and elation.  “I’m sorry, I’m starting to fade.”

Clarke nodded her head against her chest and tried to stifle a yawn unsuccessfully.  She felt like she was in graduate school again, running on empty but willing herself to stay awake for one more hour, one more chapter, one more patient.  Now it was one more kiss, one more touch, one more dreamy sigh. She had gotten a total of two hours of sleep over the last thirty-eight hours.  “You tuckered me out too.”

“I really love you.”

“I really love you.”      

Hot tears filled blue eyes and spilled over her cheeks.  Clarke inconspicuously wiped her face, but the evidence had already landed on the chest below her.  She sniffled and avoided the concerned stare looking down at her.  “I’m okay.  I’m sorry.”       

“Don’t be.”  Lexa was fixed on her beauty, on her strength, on her vulnerability.  There was little time left to appreciate her and her stunning qualities and then they would be dust and bones.  Lexa swallowed once, twice, three times, but the lump in her throat was not going anywhere.  Soft green eyes turned glassy with unshed tears that would inevitably saturate strands of her hair, drip into her ears, and hang on the edge of her jawline.

“May we meet again, Lexa.”

“May we meet again, Clarke.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

* * *

 

 

 **EPILOGUE**  

 

 

**January 2, 2351 10:22 AM**

 

“Clarke.”

“Clarke.”

“Clarke!”

Dust.  Sunlight.  Car alarms.

Clark blinked as she looked upon immaculate blue sky and the ruins of brick and drywall in her periphery.  Smoke filled her nostrils.  A nonstop cacophony of car horns went off outside, and gushes of water poured out close by and hit a hard surface with a constant smack.  She sat up like lightning, the sheet covering her torso falling and revealing her naked chest, and saw Lexa sitting next to her on the edge of the bed.  Her green eyes were warm and familiar and turbulent.  “Lexa.” 

Lexa put her arms around Clarke and felt her clutch at her flannel shirt.  “It’s okay.  You’re safe.”  She breathed in deep against her neck and smelled sweat and the lingering scent of lavender and sandalwood perfume.  “Here.”  She pulled away and presented her with her olive green t-shirt, gray jeans, and a pair of clean boxer briefs.  “I found your clothes buried in dust, so they may be a little dirty.” 

“What else have you found?” Clarke pulled on her t-shirt and swung her legs off the bed to step into maroon-colored boxer briefs.  She glanced over at Lexa and noticed the grave expression causing her sharp features to become even sharper.  “Is it that bad out there?”

“I only took a peek outside, but yeah, Polis is demolished.  There’s blood and bodies everywhere.”  Lexa unfolded her elegant hands and examined them, soft and warm, unmarked and unscathed.  She observed Clarke slipping on her jeans and climbing to her feet as she buttoned and zippered them.  There was not a single scratch on her either.  “Clarke…”

“Are we dead?  Is this a dream?”  Clarke stared at her for a moment, but her attention roamed as she scanned the destroyed apartment.  Where there was once a wall, there was a giant opening that gave her access to the view of the street out in front of the building.  She did not see a speck of blue of her treasured bicycle, but the houses across the way had been reduced to rubble.  “Holy shit.  We cannot possibly be real.”

“I don’t know.”  Lexa stood up and took Clarke by the hand.  She offered her a weak smile.  “You feel real to me.”    

They walked through the living room, breathing in dust and smoke and death, ducking under fallen drywall and copper pipes, stepping over splintered wood and a cracked porcelain toilet that had dropped down from the upstairs apartment.  Clarke spotted the framed sketch of Lexa on the floor, under the broken coffee table, and picked it up.  The glass was shattered, but the drawing was still in decent condition, thankfully.  She protected it under her arm, and Lexa led them outside to the strewn lifeless forms and the incessant echo of car alarms. 

“We should look for other survivors,” Clarke suggested as she vigilantly assessed the scene for signs of movement.  They established a zigzag pattern and headed for Polis Tower, going from house to house, building to building, checking in and shouting a nonthreatening greeting.  There was more and more devastation to witness as they traveled from block to block.  The bar they had met at the other night was a large pile of debris.  “All this has happened before, and all of this will happen again.”  Clarke glanced over at Lexa.  She held her hand tighter, and they continued on in the direction of their destination.

Lexa saw where her home, her beloved capitol, once stood in the distance.  Polis Tower was jaggedly split in half, a quarter of its original size, and clouds of dust and mountains of steel and titanium surrounded what was left of it.  She swallowed hard and attempted to fight back tears.  She never thought Polis would fall to anyone or anything, not to war or nature or the Gods themselves.

“Lexa.”  Clarke watched as Lexa turned her head and looked at her.  She pointed toward the square, the location of the peace rally from the night before.  It had been a good turnout after all, as evidenced by the morose ocean of dead bodies lying on the cement, but there was subtle life and movement if she stared hard enough.  “Come on.” 

Lexa and Clarke made their way over and came across a neon orange poster with a legendary phrase printed on it in thick black marker.  Lexa bent down, picked it up, and a quiet grin appeared at her lips.  “Blood must not have blood.” 

“Not a bad idea, right?”

“Not a bad idea at all.”

A group of survivors, men and women, gathered at the square, some screaming in pain and agony, some bleeding out and accepting their fate, some trying to make sense out of everything, and they soon discovered Lexa and Clarke.  They had a glow about them, a result of being unharmed and untouched by death and disaster.

Clarke heard the shrill cries and tortured requests for help and comfort.  She wanted to jump right in and examine their injuries.  She already decided she would scavenge the clinic and Polis General for medications and medical supplies.  She attempted to pull Lexa toward the survivors, but she was tugged back instead.  While Lexa wanted to exercise caution, Clarke was ready to go forward.  “What?  They’re our people.  We need to help them, Lexa.” 

“Our people?”

“Our people.” 

Lexa smiled and pulled her close, touching her forehead to her own.  “I love you.” 

“I love you too.”  Clarke tilted her head upward, and they shared a kiss, soft and sweet and eternal.   

Lexa lingered behind as Clarke took off running.  She watched her kneel by a man who was bleeding profusely and missing a limb.  She appeared so cool and so calm, but Lexa knew the anxiety and adrenaline must have been pumping.  She reveled in that feeling, that feeling of knowing and understanding Clarke as much as she knew and understood herself.  They always had been different sides of the same coin.   

Lexa longingly stared up at the massive, desolate wreckage of Polis.  She had left her heart there once, only to find it again at the end of the world. 

“We rebuild.  We survive.  We live.  Again.”   

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end.  
>    
> A lot of sex, am I right? I think the intimate scenes of 3x07 kind of feel like the end of the world for Lexa and Clarke because they knew there was a real possibility they would never be together again. If it wasn't for the kill order and Octavia being annoying and guilt-tripping Clarke, they probably wouldn't have left that bed at all. 
> 
> The series finale of Battlestar Galactica gets a lot of flack because of the lack of resolution and unanswered questions, but I absolutely loved it. I kind of wanted to do something ambiguous here too, so that's what I was going for with the ending. I wanted to raise questions and have you interpret Lexa and Clarke and the apocalypse whatever way you want to. I mean, I have my opinion because I wrote the thing, but I'm more interested in your thoughts. I hope you liked it!


End file.
